Through the Storm
by Tropifrutti
Summary: Love is like a boat on the waves - it may be battered and beaten, but if it is strong enough it will not break. Finding happiness was never going to be easy for Finnick and Annie, but together they made it through the storm. This is my take on how it happened. Annie's POV, Finnick's games onwards.
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

My bare feet sink into the damp sand, leaving haphazard footprints dotted behind me on the expanse of grey beach as I sprint for the sea. Its cold and drizzly, the rain misting in my hair and the wind whipping strands of it back into my face as I run, tugging them out of the elegant topknot my mother fixed up for me this morning. The waves ahead of me are rough, crashing up the beach and churning up a frothy mixture of sand, stones and seaweed before dragging them back into the depths and a few fishermen are around, struggling to push their tiny boats out against the tide.

I don't really see them. I just see the sea.

When I reach the water, its icy coldness and the slap of the waves on my bare legs slow me down a little and my run becomes a fast walk, - still determined, still heading out into the depths, but steadily, the chill of the ocean slowing me down. My dress is soaked within an instance by the spray, the pretty white cotton suddenly heavy and cold on my skin – ruined, probably, but its not like I'm going to need it again.

"Kid, what are you doing?"

I don't even glance at the concerned fisherman watching me as the water reaches my hip height and my walk becomes a desperate wade. The salt spray stings in my eyes and I wipe them furiously, striding forward against the current, my eyesight fixed on the dark, blurry horizon.

"What's she doing?"

"That's Cresta's girl, that is!"

"Come back you crazy kid, you'll kill yourself!"

All the fishermen are yelling now – some have even left their boats and are wading towards me – but I ignore them. Their voices are drowned out anyway, by the roar of the wind and the splashing of the waves surrounding me. I wonder briefly why they're here, why they aren't in the town square with everyone else. Do they even know what just happened?

When the water reaches my waist height I'm forced to stop, panting, my feet struggling to find purchase on the sand as the waves tug at me in all directions. Its freezing cold, and my limbs are already fatigued from the running. I can barely stand up straight, and my arms are flailing about me as I try to steady myself in the choppy water. If I go any further, the tide will be too strong and I'll be tossed out to sea like a rag doll, drowning in the icy waves.

But if I go back, I'm dead too.

Somewhere in the back of my mind, I realise that what I'm doing now is probably not going to help me - I've been told enough about the games to know that crazy very rarely equals sponsors. But right now I don't care - I just want it all to stop. A wave breaks over me, drenching my hair and shoving me backwards, but I just shut my eyes and wish this wasn't real.

"Miss Cresta, get back here!"

The peacekeeper's voice is faint over the sound of the wind roaring in my ears, but I hear it and its enough to spur me into attempting to move again. I'm in big trouble now because I've run, and that's something you don't do. You don't run, not once they've read your name out. You're theirs when that's happened. I take a tentative step regardless, but I wobble as the tide catches and I can't go further.

"Annie!"

I'm not sure if I imagine the sound of his voice, concerned and terrified, carried from the beach by the wind. I knew he'd follow me. When I'd been up on the stage a few minutes ago, I'd felt his eyes boring into me from where he sat in the victors chair, but had avoided looking back, so focussed was I on not crying. It was when the Peacekeeper had taken my arm, pulled me away from the stage and tried to lead me into the town hall that I'd cracked. I just screamed and broke free, running for my life, running for the sea.

"Annie!"

His voice is closer now, and I turn to see him, but just at that second a huge wave smacks into me from behind and I go under. Instantly, all is darkness and the roar of the waves, and I kick my feet furiously to try and find purchase, but to no avail. I'm being tugged back out into the abyss, tossed around helplessly like a rag doll in the current. For a split second my head resurfaces and I gasp and open my eyes to see the sky, but then I'm pulled back under again into the whirling blackness.

So this is how I'll die.

And then I feel arms around me, tugging me upwards, pulling my head towards the surface. I gulp in air when my face breaks it, clinging to my rescuer and burying my face in his damp chest. He's warm, his shirt sticking to his arms, his bronze hair dark and matted by the water.

"I've got you Annie, its OK," he says in my ear, holding my head above water and stroking my hair. "I've got you."

"F-f-finnick," I stammer, shivering wildly. He wraps his arms around me and lifts me up, holding me tightly.

"I'm here, Ann. You're safe."

"Finnick… I'm going to die," I choke out as he slowly starts to carry me back through the waves to the shore, where the peacekeepers are waiting.

"No, Annie. Its ok, everything's going to be OK." But I hear the crack in his voice and when I finally look up at his face, his sea-green eyes are filled with more pain and sorrow than I've ever seen them before – even more so than at his own reaping five years ago today.

And I know things will never be OK again.

**AN: Hi everyone! I'm a new fanfiction writer and I hope you've all enjoyed my first chapter. Please drop me a review to let me know how I'm doing and if you'd like me to continue **


	2. Surviving

_**Five years earlier…**_

I sit and stare at the tiny TV screen in front of me, my back sore from hunching in the same position for too long, my knuckles white from gripping the arms of the chair. My eyes are red and itchy, my mouth dry and my body exhausted with fatigue, but I'm not leaving now. Not when it's so close to the end.

The girl from two is suspended in a net strung up between two thick tree branches and missing half of her insides by the looks of things, but she's not giving up yet. She's clutching at the gaping wound on her stomach with one hand and slashing wildly at the netting with a short knife held in the other, thrashing about and screaming in anger and pain. Below her on the forest floor stands the boy with the trident, looking up at his catch. He takes a shaky step forward and brings his trident up to his shoulder, aiming for the girl. Its prongs are gleaming red with fresh blood that matches the trickles of it that run down from the deep exposed wound on his leg. His face is grim as he pulls his shoulder back to strike the final blow.

"Annie?"

The sound of my mother's voice startles me and I jump, whipping my head around to see her standing in the doorway. She shakes her head sadly as she sees me sat on my rickety wooden dining chair in front of the television, dark shadows under my eyes.

"Annie, it's four in the morning. What are you doing?"

A horrific scream from the television draws both our attention back to it. The trident has buried itself in the shoulder of the girl in the net, and blood is gushing from the points where it pierces her skin. She screams, coughing blood from her mouth one last time before her head lolls backwards limply to rest on the fraying strands of net around her. My mother and I both listen to the heavy boom of the cannon.

"He's won, Mom," I say quietly.

"Oh, Annie." My eyes are focussed on the screen, but I feel her approach me and place a hand on my shoulder. I shiver slightly – her hand is cold, and I suddenly realise that the fire in the grate must have died out hours ago.

"Did it wake you up again?" I ask, avoiding looking at her. I'd tried to keep the volume low deliberately after the first night, but in the past few weeks I'd learnt that the people who edit the games like to make them more dramatic sometimes by lowering the sound a lot during the build-up to confrontations and then blasting it out at you during actual fights. I see my mother shake her head out of the corner of my eye before she crouches down beside me.

"No, I just…you know I don't like you staying up to watch these. Or watching them at all, even." She reaches a hand out to stroke my hair, and I hitch my cold legs up underneath me and lean back to rest on her chest. She smells of perfume and home. On the screen, the boy with the trident is staring up at the girl's body, his face pale with shock. I watch as he collapses to his knees, clutching his chest and breathing heavily.

"I don't like watching them either," I say as the Capitol anthem begins to blare over the speakers in the arena. It's true – I can remember the first time I caught a glimpse of the games when I was six years old. Boys and girls, some the same age as my brothers, killing each other for entertainment. I didn't understand what was going on at the time but the sight of the girl from my district mercilessly slitting the throat of another child with a long knife was still enough to keep me up with nightmares for weeks. "I just wanted to make sure he won."

My mom murmurs in response, her hand still absent-mindedly stroking my hair. We watch together as the hovercrafts appear in the sky, one to collect the dead tribute's body and the other to pick up the victor.

"_Ladies and gentlemen, we present to you the victor of the 65__th__ Hunger Games – Finnick Odair of District 4!"_

"I knew he'd do it," I say, more to myself then anything. "He had too."

"Annie…"

My mother seems to be struggling with words, so I turn away from the screen to look at her. I wander if she's worried that I'm up too late.

"It's ok, Mom. District 4 has won. We'll just be celebrating and stuff in school tomorrow, so I can sleep then."

"I know, but sweetheart… you shouldn't have watched this."

"They make us watch it at school anyway," I point out. "As soon as we're old enough to be reaped. They'll be showing us that-" I point at the screen, currently replaying Finnick's final kill "-for the next few weeks. They're proud when we win."

"Yes, but… you've watched it all. The whole thing, every bit. I know you've got this… _crush _on that boy…"

"I haven't! I just want to see what they're like – the games, I mean."

My mother twitches at that, and I guess what she's thinking. Next year, I'll be thirteen and Joshua and Blake will be eighteen and sixteen. Any of us could be picked.

"Mom?"

My mother is staring into space, but at the sound of my voice she shakes her head slightly, and stands up. "Go to bed, Annie. It's over."

I glance back at the screen, which is now showing Finnick's mentor being interviewed. A small box in the corner of the screen continues to show the arena, where Finnick himself is being loaded onto a stretcher by Capitol medics. They crowd around him, holding out devices and syringes as he's carried into the hovercraft. Within a couple of days, the weak, malnourished boy on the screen with huge gashes across his arms and chest, bone sticking out of his thigh and an ugly cut across the length of his back will be the perfect Finnick Odair again, and a few weeks after that he'll be home. We'll celebrate him, the boy with the trident, and he'll move into one of the houses in Victor's Village, the huge ones that my friends and I used to sneak over to the rich side of town to look at. Magnificent seaside villas with balconies overlooking the beach, elegant windows, polished wooden doors. But only available at the ultimate price, one that very few are capable of paying.

"Please Annie."

My mother sounds distressed, and I realise that she stopped watching when they showed Finnick being put on the stretcher. She's staring at the door, her arms hugging her chest, not looking at me. I slide my legs out from underneath me and stand, stretching my stiff arms up above my head.

"I'm sorry, Mom. I just wanted to know he was fine," I repeat, dropping my arms back to my sides and hugging myself, trying to feel a bit warmer. I realise that I sound crazy, obsessed like one of the silly girls at school, but she doesn't know that it's different. I can't tell her why.

My mom smiles sadly and turns back to me. "I know you do, sweetheart. That boy's all you've talked about for the past three weeks. But he's won now, so he'll… well, he's won."

She walks over to the TV and switches it off, plunging the room into sudden darkness. I can just make out her silhouette in the moonlight that filters through the small window as she makes her way back towards the door.

"Bed, Annie?"

I glance at her and nod before following her down the hall. She doesn't want to talk now. Tomorrow, I'll probably get another telling off like I did the last three nights she caught me staying up to watch the games, but now she's been distracted – I can see it in her eyes. The wooden floor is chilly under my bare feet and I shiver again, wondering how I didn't notice before how cold it was. My mother opens the door to my bedroom for me and I quickly hop into the bed, pulling the covers around me to block off the chill.

"You won't have any nightmares, will you?" my mother asks, stroking my hair again. I shake my head.

"No." Not now I know Finnick's safe.

"Ok. Goodnight, Annie."

She kisses me on the forehead before heading to the door. Just as she's about to leave, a thought occurs to me.

"Mom?"

She turns. "What is it, honey?"

I pause, not wanting to upset her. "I am sorry."

"For what?"

"I… I watched the games." She stares at me blankly. "_I helped them._"

My mother's face stiffens, but other than that, she doesn't react. I know she understands what I mean – that the apology is not for her.

"I… I'm sure he'd forgive you, Annie," she says hesitantly, her voice low.

"You think?" I ask.

"Of course he would have done. He was your brother Annie, he loved you." Her tone tells me that it's the end of the conversation, but I can't help myself.

"Do you miss him?"

She's silent, and I wonder if I might have gone too far. It's my tiredness that's responsible – normally, we never talk about Derren. It's too painful, especially for my mother.

"Yes," she says, and it's almost like a confession. "Every day. But Annie – he wouldn't have been angry. I'm not angry. I know you watched them because you were worried about Finnick, not because you enjoy them."

I think about Finnick, and about how right now he's probably unconscious, on his way to a hospital somewhere. But it's the Capitol not a district, so he'll be taken care of. He'll get the medicine and surgery he needs. Not like Derren.

"I… thanks, Mom," I say in a small voice. "Sorry." I hear her sigh, and know she's sorry to, although neither of us is really sure what we're sorry for.

"It's ok, Annie. Sleep well." She pauses, unsure if she should say something else, but gives up in the end and slips out the door. I watch it shut softly behind her, listening to her footsteps as she pads back to her bedroom, the soft click as she shuts her own door behind her.

I feel bad, because I know she won't sleep tonight now.

Sighing, I turn over in the bed, stretching out my stiff legs and trying to get comfortable. It's no use – my head is also too full of thoughts about Derren and Finnick for me to fall asleep, despite my tiredness and the intense relief washing over me now I know Finnick is safe. I think about what my mother said before she left, about Derren not being angry with me. Would he be? He did hate the games, and the Capitol. He used to say that we 'helped' them when we sat down to watch them, and at school when they'd gathered us in the hall to view 'educational' clips of the tributes, he had refused, going off on his own to the beach instead. My parents had tried to warn him, telling him that he needed to calm down and stop saying bad things about the Capitol and stirring up trouble, but he hadn't listened. And then he'd had his accident.

Only it wasn't an accident. I've known that for a while now.

Inexplicably, my mind flashes back to the girl in the net, the one Finnick killed. Was her death an accident? A murder? A necessity? It's all too confusing. Was there a child out there in District 2 somewhere who, like me, had followed the girl from her reaping to the bitter end and now sat crying and hating Finnick for doing what he did? A child who'd barely spoken to her, but cared about her and wanted her safe and happy? A child who, like Derren, now hated the Capitol for what they'd done?

My mind flits to the day of the reaping a few weeks ago. It had been early, stupidly early, when the sun hadn't even risen and not even my father and the rest of the fishermen were up. I had wondered down to the beach, unable to sleep, my thought's too preoccupied with the fact that it was my first reaping day. And that's when I'd seen him. Finnick, stood in the waves up to his knees, his eyes closed to the spray. I hadn't recognised him at first, but when I saw it was popular Finnick Odair – object of affection for most girls in the school – I'd been surprised. I'd never seen him like this. His followers and admirers gone – just him, alone and scared. He hadn't noticed I was there until I was really close – then, his eyes had opened and he'd seen me.

"Annie?" he'd asked. "Annie Cresta?"

I nodded in shock, surprised that he even knew my name. "You're Finnick Odair."

"Annie… can you keep a secret?"

He hadn't been looking at me – his eyes had been fixed on the horizon. I'd nodded, but when I realised he wasn't watching, had spoken aloud.

"Yes."

"I hate them," he'd said, staring up at the sky. "I hate the Capitol."

My eyes had widened, and I'd glanced around the beach. It was deserted.

"You hate them?" I'd said. He looked down at me, his eyes dark and stormy like the ocean. I could tell he hadn't slept.

"Annie – yes, I really hate them. I hate this. I hate what they do to us."

I had been shocked – not since Derren had I heard anyone talk like this. To me, Finnick had just been the popular guy at school – a couple of years above me with loads of friends and even more female admirers. All the girls from my year upwards were in love with his sea-green eyes and golden-bronze hair, but that was all he was – a pretty face, a handsome smile, a charming attitude. I'd never seen this side of him before.

"You can't say those things," I'd said, suddenly scared.

"Why?" he'd asked. I'd opened my mouth, and then shut it again. I'd never told anyone about Derren before.

"They'll get you."

Finnick had laughed sarcastically at that, turning back to the waves. "There'll never get me, Annie."

"They got my brother," I'd said quietly. He had looked back at me, his expression unreadable.

"So you hate them too?"

I'd hesitated, and then nodded.

"Yes."

Finnick had grinned, but there was no humour in his face. "Well Annie, promise me this – don't stop. Never, ever stop. Don't stop hating them."

I had wondered at that point if Finnick might potentially not be quite right in the head.

"I won't," I'd promised, slightly nervous.

"Good." He face determined, he had turned back to the sea. I watched him for a few seconds before opening my mouth again.

"Are you…alright?" I'd asked, deciding 'crazy' wasn't an appropriate thing to say to someone I'd never spoken to before.

He'd glanced at me, his eyes flaring. But then, just as suddenly, they softened and he sighed, his shoulders visibly slumping.

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine. Sorry, Annie. I'm just scared."

I was surprised he'd admitted it – quite a few boys at school liked to act like they weren't scared of the games and that it would be a big honour to be chosen. But thinking back, I realised then that Finnick had never been one of them.

"That's ok. I'm scared too," I'd said. Finnick turned and flashed me a smile, a genuine one this time, and despite myself I felt a funny feeling in my stomach at the sight of it.

"See you around, Annie," he'd said.

"I…I'll see you later…"

And then he was gone, loping off across the beach, the roar of the wind in my ears replacing his words. I thought I'd imagined it. But later on, in the crowd, when his name had been called and he'd walked up to stand on the stage, he'd caught my eye. Very, very slightly, the corner of his mouth had lifted up in a smile. In such a horrible situation, the nightmare of every child in Panem, he had smiled. Only for a split second and only for me.

I knew then that I couldn't let this strange, crazy boy die in something so awful. For the next three weeks, I drank in every second of his games – the tribute parade, his interview, his first few seconds in the arena. It had been awful, watching so much death and suffering but I stuck it out – I had to, to make sure he survived. When he came close to death, when the boy from five had slashed open his leg, when he was starving and hallucinating from infection in the woods before the sponsors sent him medicine, I was there too. I couldn't help myself.

And now, now it was over, and he had survived. He had defied the Capitol's death sentence and he was coming home. And as my mind drifted foggily off into the realms of sleep, I knew in my heart that Derren couldn't be angry about that.

**AN: Thank you to everyone who reviewed, favourited or even read my last chapter– I hope you enjoy this one! I hope Annie doesn't seem too obsessive – as you'll see in later chapters, she's had a few traumatic experiences in her life so far, making her more than a little strange. Her family back story should be explained in the next few chapters, so please stick it out. And please do review, I'd love to know how I'm doing!**


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